


Do You Remember Kuat?

by ibreathethroughwords



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: A love story in reverse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Blood, Brief Desciptions of Violence, Brief Description of Torture, Brief Descriptions of Interrogation, Everyone Loves Space Mom and Dad, Happy Valentine’s Day, Injured Character, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Search and Rescue, gays in space, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 12:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibreathethroughwords/pseuds/ibreathethroughwords
Summary: As far as bunkers went, it was old enough to have been there for a few decades. It was also poorly built, badly positioned, and naturally drafty. Rukh didn’t know who had made it, but he imagined they were likely long-dead from a life of otherwise terrible decision-making. The electricity was ancient, dangerous, and barely functional. It had seven rooms in all. Most of the doors did not work. One room smelled of the captain the closer they came to it, and of fresh blood. Rukh bodily blocked Thrawn from going near that room, willing himself to become a brick wall.





	Do You Remember Kuat?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Please enjoy this. Happy Valentine’s Day! It is a one shot. I swear!!!

If he made it back to the Empire alive, he was going to murder Thrawn. The grand admiral had forced the junior officer to accompany him to the surface of the planet by pulling rank and being present there had gotten him kidnapped: he was sure of it. The rebel cell would have never had the chance had he stayed aboard ship. That was more up to his commanding officer than to him, however. As Thrawn had recently reminded him after a quite vicious argument, the role of a junior officer was to obey. Sometimes he needed his second-in-command to accept the orders given him and do as he was told instead of questioning everything.

Since their return to the ship after the _Chimaera's_ visit to the dry docks at Kuat Thrawn had been occasionally moody and short with him. Giving in placated him the fastest, and so Pellaeon usually did. He had then.

Pellaeon still felt attending official political meetings and negotiating for political power seemed like something best left to the Council of Moffs, untrustworthy serpents though they were. As they regained more territory Thrawn had been handling negotiations himself more often. Which meant Pellaeon was being dragged off the _Chimaera_ more often than he liked.

It was no secret these days to anyone inside or outside of the Empire that Thrawn was grooming him as his heir and successor. Partially because of that those wishing to get at the Supreme Commander came for him. And, of the two of them, Pellaeon was the easier target, with no bodyguards of his own aside from whatever stormtrooper detachment accompanied them and Rukh off the _Chimaera._

For that very reason, New Republic Intelligence operatives disguised as members of their own stormtrooper guard were able to separate him from Thrawn and Rukh during a break in the meetings with a fake message from the ship. Pellaeon fell for it without a second thought. He was berating himself for it now, though the disappointment in himself was likely nothing compared to what he would feel when he experienced Thrawn's cold eyes on him. 

_If_ he did, Pellaeon reminded himself. There was no reason to assume a rescue was coming, or that these operatives intended to leave him alive after the questioning. surely it was a universal truth that nothing good happened to anybody who was quickly taken to an isolated bunker in the woods for an interrogation.

Between the truth serum they’d injected him with, being deprived of rest, and being made as uncomfortable and alone as possible, he was pretty sure he was right. They had chained him in a standing position in a pitch black room and left. When the sound of his own breathing had started to make him nervous, the lights flicked on, harsh enough to make him wince, and he struggled to see. A door opened, but seeing into the corridor was too difficult. 

"Captain Gilad Pellaeon," said a male voice. He couldn't identify the species by the voice, and the Basic had no accent to it: probably a Rimworlder or former merchant. "I would apologize for the inconvenience, but—”

“But you're not sorry," he added impatiently. "Tell me who you are and who you're with."

It threw the other man off-balance. "Ah— have you been interrogated before?"

Talking would only let the truth out: Pellaeon went for the "grizzled old ship's captain" routine, and merely raised an eyebrow. Awkward silence filled the room, and as his vision cleared, the man became visible.

His interrogator had a terrible case of baby-face — or would if he hadn't grown his black beard to cover it — but Pellaeon could still put his otherwise plain face and build at his late twenties. The blue eyes, so focused and sharp, were what really drove the estimate toward the higher end of that decade of life. "You must be new at this," he suggested, not entirely unkindly. The man had dark circles under his eyes that reminded Pellaeon of how his first officer, Commander Biggles, had looked last week upon returning to duty after a few months of leave to welcome his first child. It pushed him slightly toward compassion.

The glare he got was almost frightening. Pellaeon stayed calm, offered a fatherly look in return, and braced himself as the door opened again.

*

While Tschel was as glad as anyone else on the ship that the Empire was finally making good ground — and quickly — against the Rebellion, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy about these more frequent excursions off ship. It was no secret that Grand Admiral Thrawn was grooming Captain Pellaeon as his successor — stars, the bridge crew had figured that out roughly a week after their captain had — and that knowledge made these trips dangerous. Rumors abounded about the unlikely pair: Tschel had the dubious honor of compiling the daily security bulletin and unfortunately had heard most of them while sorting through overnight Intelligence and Communications reports.

One of the rumors that had recently made its way to the Rebellion was that the Empire's top military leaders had eloped on Kuat during the _Chimaera's_ time there last month to have her comm systems, tractor beams, and turbolasers upgraded. They had not. Tschel and a couple of other bridge officers, along with the Chief of Engineering, the ship's finance officer, and two undercover Intelligence agents had been locked in meetings with the grand admiral, the captain, a couple of the moffs, several Noghri honor guards, and the members of the Kuati Royal Family who ran the shipyards. The stated purpose of the ten days long meeting had been to renegotiate prices.

The real purpose, he had realized during the briefing, was to remind the royal family to whom their allegiance belonged.

Pellaeon and Thrawn had no time to elope while they were there: the schedule had been brutal. One night their entire group had only managed five or six hours of sleep because the royals insisted on having several balls in their honor and on the night of the second, the hotel turbolift trapped all of the officers for two hours. They had all said, "Fuck it," to their dignity and found a way to get comfortable on the floor.

Grand Admiral Thrawn had taken the lead, waved them all to the floor with him, and said he didn't give a damn if anyone fell asleep until they were rescued so long as they didn't snore. As Tschel recalled, most of them had dropped off right away (as they tended to on the transportation to and from the hotel every time). They'd woken up to rescuers from the army base who thought at first they were too late until Rukh poked his head in and made a terrifying sound that was half-clicking, and half-scream.

Only their rescuers had screamed. It was a point of pride for them as they got to their feet, stretched aching backs and brushed dirt off uniforms, laughing as the Noghri calmly explained they were only exhausted. Thrawn had tenderly helped Pellaeon up after letting him sleep against him.

It wasn't that he didn't think they wouldn't elope. The Kuat trip had been an eye opener. More than once he had noticed one staring with open admiration at the other as a point was brutally or cleverly made during negotiations. They had danced together often enough at the balls, with soft, affectionate smiles he had never seen on their faces before. Smiles like those certainly weren't being given to anyone else. Afterward, on the ship, it was back to business, but the looks they kept shooting each other when the other wasn’t looking were killing everyone.

Fraternization was against regs, sure. None of them would tattle (who would they go to? Grand Admiral Thrawn was the Supreme Commander of _both branches of the military_ ) and none of the 37,000 men and women aboard cared about them setting a proper example if they would get on with it. Stars, Rukh didn't even like Pellaeon, and he had joined on the gossip to agree with multiple people. Neither man, they all knew, would make the first move. The galaxy itself would have to do it.

Tschel was terribly afraid today would be that day. The ship's first officer, finally looking more Human than New Dad, had just turned the bridge over to him for his watch when the fourth strangest security alert he'd ever received came right to him. It was delivered via a stormtrooper commander — Commander Victor Dansworth Sunshine — taking him to the aft bridge ready room, removing his helmet, and telling him that the men who were supposed to accompany their leaders to the surface had just been found dead in the back of a troop transport. The holos were gruesome, but the awkward angle of the necks were easy enough for the bridge office to see.

 

It hit him like a punch to the gut. Grand Admiral Thrawn had a bodyguard who had gone with him. These men were there to protect both of them, yes, but Thrawn had arranged the security detail primarily for Captain Pellaeon, who did have dedicated protection assigned to him. They came from a fairly large pool of men who had — in the last month — been hand-picked, and then given special training by Rukh. Their deaths meant that, at the very least, the captain was likely not safe.

"Has medical verified this?" he made himself ask around the lump in his throat because he was required to, no matter how much pain was in the commander's eyes, or how concerned he was.

His heart was beating as though it was attempting to break free.

The older man took a deep breath. "I— Yes. Sorry. They should be done soon."

Tschel lifted a hand and placed it on his shoulder, offering comfort, though neither could feel each other through his gloves of the man’s armor. "I need to warn the grand admiral. Was there any indication as to who could have done this?"

''Forensics is still going over the scene. I'll let you know when I have more."

"Thank you, Commander."

*

Captain Pellaeon had not yet returned. None of their stormtrooper escort had returned. It had been nearly a standard hour and no one had even checked in. Something was obviously wrong but Thrawn had yet to call a halt to check on his missing partner. Rukh shifted his weight behind his Lord, silently willing him to understand that something was off. He'd not quite listened when the Noghri had mentioned the troopers didn't smell enough like the ones he'd trained. Trying to explain what he meant in Basic had been impossible, and he'd been forced to let it drop despite his misgivings because Grand Admiral Thrawn was in a mood.

It wasn't that he cared about the captain beyond the pleasure he gained from tormenting him. The grand admiral, however, cared greatly for him. Rukh expected that he would take him as a mate, given another opportunity (though he had squandered the one at Kuat), even though he could not breed Pellaeon. Knowing them as he did, Rukh was sure it would not stop Thrawn from attempting to do so.

Besides that, it was an insult to him. He was charged with everyone's safety on these trips, not only Thrawn’s: it was why Thrawn had arranged the security detail for Pellaeon at his request. To lose him so easily would be a slap in the face.

Thrawn's comlink went off, on the setting that indicated an emergency. Politely, he extricated himself from the meeting and stepped into the hallway. There were no stormtroopers there either. Rukh gave the grand admiral a very pointed and not entirely respectful look as the Chiss paused before answering.

*

"This is the admiral," came Thrawn's voice, smooth and reassuring as always over the focused speakers of the bridge command station.

"Lieutenant Tschel," he identified himself. Mentally, he went over delivering the news one more time: stay calm, stick to the facts, no emotional qualifiers. Even though Thrawn couldn’t see him, his back still straightened as it would if he was delivering a formal report in person. "Admiral, I've received a report from stormtrooper Commander Sunshine. I regret to inform you that the troopers meant to accompany you to the surface were found dead in the back of a disused troop carrier approximately forty-five standard minutes ago. Medical and Army Command have confirmed their identities. We do not yet know who is responsible for their murders, nor do we know who has gone with you to the surface."

For several long, terrible seconds, there was no response. Tschel heard a solid thunk, like a skull connecting with a wall, and then a quiet sigh. "The imposters said we were receiving a priority message from the ship. Captain Pellaeon stepped out with the troopers to handle it approximately an hour ago."

Tschel didn't know the grand admiral as well as the captain, but he had spent a fair amount of time with him since he had rejoined the Empire from his mission in the Unknown Regions. And anyway, it wasn't difficult to pick out self-recrimination, despite the low voice. There had been plenty of that going on between him and the captain after Bilbringi. It was only with that crazy Jedi no longer driving a wedge between them like some kriffed-up mother-in-law that they gotten back to getting to know each other.

Who knew flirting could speed the healing process?

It make sense, then, that Thrawn would be upset. Tschel was upset: for many of bridge crew, and the ship's senior officers, Captain Pellaeon was their only father figure. Or had been, until Thrawn's return. He was widely beloved, both on the _Chimera_ and elsewhere.

(A gossip news show they'd had on in the officer's lounge one night had shown a holo of Thrawn and Pellaeon at a meeting with the moffs. It was innocent enough, but they'd all been fascinated by how big of a deal could be made of Thrawn's hand on the middle of the captain's back as he guided him through a crowd of reporters, aids, and vultures to sit at his right hand.)

"He's not returned?" Tschel guessed, tension tightening his stomach.

"And there's no sign of the imposters." It was difficult to stay professional with news like that, with his heart now pounding harder in his chest and adrenaline pumping. Only the dozens of drills they had done to prepare them all for difficult scenarios kept him outwardly calm.

“We can try to trace his comlink signal and see how long they took to pull it off of him and where,” he suggested after fifteen seconds of silence when Thrawn hadn’t given an order or a suggestion. If Tschel didn’t know any better, he might say Thrawn was fighting off panic. When no objection came, he calmly and quietly relayed the order to the communications officer and got them started on a trace.

By the time he returned to the command station Thrawn had gathered himself again. “The ship is still here,” the grand admiral reported, “so they either left on foot or in another vehicle. Find out everywhere they could have gone in the last hour with this location as the starting point of the search radius. I want to know the maximum range. I also want to know if any ships have left the planet in that time.”

“Yes, sir,” he responded, and transferred the grand admiral to his comlink to make relaying information easier. As information came together it painted a less horrible picture than he had feared, but it was still pretty bad. 

No ships had left the planet: the _Chimaera_ and her support craft were immediately ordered into blockade position to ensure that remained a fact. That meant he’d been taken on foot or by speeder, and tracking his comlink showed the second was more likely. The comlink had been quickly taken to the edge of the woods, and then slowly wandered around with before ending up—

“Admiral,” Tschel said in an as even a tone as possible, “I believe his comlink has ended up within five meters of you.”

“Rukh,” Thrawn directed and there was nothing for a few minutes. “I have it.”

His voice was grim. 

“Is there anything—?”

“One new message. Likely the same one I left for him this morning that he hadn’t checked. I don’t know his passcode, or I would check to see.” Thrawn’s voice was tight with emotion. Tschel pretended not to notice. “Where did the trace say it was stopped the longest?”

“I’ll send the coordinates to your datapad. It’s a spot just inside the tree line. Shall I send stormtroopers?”

Thrawn’s voice was thoughtful. “Verify their identities, and send two squadrons of stormtroopers to me. TIE squadron A-1 is to conduct an aerial search of the woods,” he ordered, “and then I want the identities of all members of the crew checked and verified. Do you remember how to run that particular drill, Lieutenant?”

In the last year they’d done it about six times. He knew.

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry on. Rukh and I will meet the stormtroopers at the coordinates you send. Thrawn out.”

*

Rebels were extremely bad at interrogation. How had they bested the Empire at all? How had they ever gained any information? They were half an hour into this and he was already more bored than he had been during the damn meeting! Pellaeon yawned — it couldn’t be helped — and idly wondered if he ought to try to get information out of them instead. It might be more amusing.

“Mac—”

“Mark.”

“Mark,” he corrected himself with a nod. “Why is it that you hate the Empire?”

The boy blinked at him. “What? Why do you care?”

“Indulge an old man’s curiosity.”

“The xenophobia. The lack of a compromising central government ready to hear out the needs of all races. Only letting Humans serve in the military.”

Pellaeon waved his left hand dismissively — it was a little more loosely chained in the shackles above his head than the right one was. “That was Palpatine’s Empire. Surely you’ve heard that Grand Admiral Thrawn runs things quite differently.”

His interrogators perked up immediately at the mention of his commander’s name. _Is it information about Thrawn they want?_ “All laws against non-humans serving in the military have been done away with. We’ve been working on ousting the xenophobic politicians from power, but any one government can only handle so much instability at a time — a concept with which your Republic ought to be more than familiar.”

They hated the judgmental tone, but he didn’t give a damn: after nearly sixty-five years of life, he had earned the right to be scornful. Pellaeon had served in the Fleet through multiple governments. These children had barely experienced life. “The idea that it is everyone’s job to protect the Empire is central to our way of life now.” 

“What about a central government?” the older Human asked.

Pellaeon merely looked at him. The truth serum had yet to wear off: he couldn’t let himself answer the question outright. They had a central government, but the Council was still full of contentious and xenophobic Moffs. For now. Thrawn wasn’t ready to take his proper place on the throne yet.

“What about it?” he asked instead.

“You don’t have one,” said Mark.

Pellaeon shifted his feet. Standing was starting to become painful, with only the balls of his feet bearing the weight. “Why do you think that?” It was better to challenge their line of thinking than to confirm or deny it.

“Intelligence reports.” The third man in the room was huge, about two meters tall. His species, if Pellaeon was correct, was Lasat. The purple fur, striped with darker purple, cat-like ears on the side of his head rather than the top, and green eyes were attention grabbing. So were the four-digit hands and feet. He had opposable digits on his feet as well as his hands. For an alien, he was incredibly handsome: the black facial hair was fetching, as were the large muscles. Everything about him screamed military professional to Pellaeon. 

Chalking their thoughts all up to intel meant one of two things: either they didn’t know much or they were feeding him the wrong information on purpose. “Do you think the Empire would need or want one? We aren’t a Republic. We hold a different set of beliefs.”

“Surely there has to be some form of standardization amongst the planetary governments, as in the old days.” The second man — a tall, handsome blonde who was starting to go gray — added. “War level taxes are being paid out still, and you don’t have planets willingly joining yet. How are you keeping them in line and paying up, if not via a strong central government?”

Pellaeon didn’t answer. If the rebels didn’t understand the value of allowing a government to keep their autonomy, he wouldn’t be the one to explain it to them. 

“We’re not going to get any answers like this,” the blonde said. His eyes shifted to the other Human. “Major, you’re dismissed.”

The young man nodded and stood, and glanced back at the three men in the room before leaving. Standing as well, the older human pulled a cloth pouch from a case on his belt. “I hate to do this the hard way, Captain, but you’ve shown an unwillingness to speak candidly so far that is rather disheartening.” He laid it out on the table behind him, where Pellaeon couldn’t quiet see what was in it. After selecting an item, the Human came back over to him. 

“I do apologize. This is quite outside standard operating procedure, but I assure you it’s been authorized. Your cooperation will cause less pain.”

*

His Lord was getting anxious. Rukh would not let him move into the woods without their stormtrooper escort. Their ETA was five minutes, and Lieutenant Tschel had done a remarkable job of keeping the grand admiral calm and up-to-date with developments via comlink. But a lot could happen in five minutes, Thrawn had assured him before trying to press ahead. The first time Thrawn allowed his guard to pull him back with minimal struggle. When he did it again, Rukh forced him against a tree, out of sight of the eyes of others, and held him there with his elbow to his chest, one hand tightly gripping his wrists.

“It has been over two hours, my Lord,” he reminded Thrawn in as respectful a tone as he could manage while the other was glaring down at him. “One of you has already disappeared. Will it be both of you, or do you have the ability to command your men? They need you as much as he does.”

Rukh glared back. Rarely did the bodyguard take a disrespectful tone with him. Rarely did the grand admiral need someone to help him adjust his perspective.

The Chiss took a deep breath, and brought himself under control. “I did not listen to you, and I should have.” 

There was no arguing with that. Rukh nodded, accepting the half-apology. “That doesn’t place the entirety of the blame on you. The Rebels are at fault. We will find them, recover your captain, and they will pay.”

A quiet sigh, then a short nod, and Rukh released him, stepping back. There was the whine of the jets from the troop shuttle, and he gestured for the grand admiral to approach the shuttle first. Rukh wished to keep him where he could see his charge.

*

“They’ve landed a troop shuttle on the edge of the woods,” Pellaeon heard the Lasat say through the haze of pain caused by his pounding head.

More murmuring followed, too low for him to hear. “But they can’t possibly know where we are,” one of the Humans said.

“Two full squads of stormtroopers,” said the Lasat.

If Rukh picked up his scent, these Rebels were dead men. Once they had left the speeder with the rest of the men who had infiltrated his ship he had tried to touch as many plants as possible to leave a trail for the Noghri to follow. He had to hope Rukh was with the stormtroopers. Pellaeon was careful not to show any reaction on his face. They needed to think he was still unconscious from the pain. He had to slow them down.

“We have to move. Do you think he can walk?”

A derisive snort from somewhere near him. “After what I did to him? No. He’s not capable. He isn’t even conscious.”

“He’ll have to be carried to the ship then.” The Lasat comes closer — and he smells. Oh, does he smell. The musk spread by his fur almost makes Pellaeon wince. “Get him down.”

Instead of removing the shackles from the ceiling, Pellaeon’s hands are removed from the shackles. It’s a blessing for him. The large being lifts him into a rescue carry over his shoulder, and he hangs limp. “Let’s get moving. It’s a four kilometer walk to the ship.”

*

The average Human walking speed, Tschel heard somewhere, was five kilometers per hour. If they walked, which was what the grand admiral, himself, and the tactical officer suspected, there was no way they got farther than that. Given that Rukh had, in fact, picked up a scent trail at all, Tschel was positive this is the case. He had finally caved to the desire for additional support and woken up Commander Biggles, just in case, and the two of them watched the tactical holo as a search formation was decided on and they began moving. The TIEs had launched ten minutes ago and had recently breached the atmosphere.

On the bridge, the mood was tense. Everyone who didn’t have an absolutely critical station to monitor was focused on the tactical holo or TIE Command. If they saw any ship, or any person was spotted along the trail Rukh was sniffing out, the TIEs would find them first. Tschel had his fist pressed to his mouth, his elbow cupped in his other hand as they waited. 

Rukh kept the search line moving forward at a brutal pace, but no complaining came through over the comms. None would. All of them were devoted and loyal men that had volunteered to go down and search. 

The TIEs were nearly to the city. Tschel watched as TIE Command ordered Lieutenant Colonel Nerrehna to split the squadron off into flights. Quite neatly — with the utmost precision — A-1 broke and moved to pre-determined search points to take up the patterns that had been decided on. 

The silence on the bridge was nerve-wracking. At least the crewman operating the ship’s scanners had something useful to do. The rest of them were about as useful right now as the spare bolts the Engineering Chief kept in his pockets. No noise could be heard on the bridge besides the background hum of the sublight engines roughly a third of a kilometer below the bridge, and the quiet back and forth of the discussion of those around the scanner operator, and the voice of the woman running TIE Command relaying information to and from the communications officer coordinating the aerial and ground search. For nearly two hours, it was unnaturally quiet.

“Inform Grand Admiral Thrawn that Flight One reports spotting an above-ground bunker roughly half a kilometer ahead of his current position. They believe there may be a ship on the ground nearby and are coming around for another pass.” The tension mounting on the bridge was incredible. The communications officer looked at Tschel, as though pleading with him to do the officer’s job for him. Biggles raised an eyebrow at the ensign, scolding him with a look. 

The young officer relayed the message. Voice tense, Thrawn acknowledged.

On the tactical holo, the search party pressed onward.

*

Overhead, the screaming sounds of TIE fighters in atmosphere were comforting rather than abrasive as usual. It was only a matter of time until he was found. If these idiots tried to take off they would never make it past the _Chimaera_. With Nerrehna’s squadron in the atmosphere they’d never make it into space before being forced to ground. Pellaeon continued to pretend they’d done an adequate job of subduing him, as he considered his options. If he let them get him all the way to the ship there was the risk they might have some kind of weird, rebel luck, and manage to escape with him. That wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

His injuries were bad, but not so bad he couldn’t make a break for it and buy time. They had taken his tunic, his code cylinders and rank bar, and his belt, but they’d made an amateur mistake and left his boots and feet alone. The holdout blaster was still there. All he needed was the opportunity to get free from the Lasat’s grasp and he could try to head back toward the bunker. That was where his scent trail led. 

Failing that, he could time it for a pass by the TIEs and try to get a shot or two off into the air so they could see his location and blow up the damn ship before these morons could get him on it. Timing would have to be everything.

*

As far as bunkers went, it was old enough to have been there for a few decades. It was also poorly built, badly positioned, and naturally drafty. Rukh didn’t know who had made it, but he imagined they were likely long-dead from a life of otherwise terrible decision-making. The electricity was ancient, dangerous, and barely functional. It had seven rooms in all. Most of the doors did not work. One room smelled of the captain the closer they came to it, and of fresh blood. Rukh bodily blocked Thrawn from going near that room, willing himself to become a brick wall.

On Kuat, the captain had been injured by a man whose wife had admired him at one of the balls. Thrawn had taken the minor injury to the Human personally and fussed over the captain well into the night (purely, he was sure, because the captain seemed to enjoy it, despite his protestations). 

This did not smell like a minor injury. He stopped him in the hall and let the stormtroopers advance. 

“It is a lot of blood,” he warned quietly. 

Thrawn scowled at him and opened his mouth to argue. “All of it is the captain’s,” Rukh continued. “Can you continue to command if you see it, my Lord?”

“Of course I—”

“Do you remember Kuat?”

The grand admiral’s mouth closed instantly, lips pressing into a thin line. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the wall for a moment, and took a deep breath. “I will be outside,” he said after a moment, outwardly cool and collected again. “Do not be long. We can collect evidence once we find him.”

Rukh politely didn’t point out that Thrawn’s voice nearly broke on the last two words.

*

Kuat had been the best work experience of his life, despite the length, the grueling schedule, and the difficulties brought on by dealing with royalty. As he crouched in the shadow of a boulder, praying desperately that the TIEs would come around for another pass and that he had lost his pursuers, Pellaeon tried to focus on what he was returning to.

That trip had shown him there was some potential for something between himself and Thrawn, though upon their return to the ship, whatever romance had been building had stopped. Days of preparation for the trip necessitated hours of just them, the afternoon hours immediately after the meetings were spent discussing what had been gained, and what could be given, usually while dining together privately and informally on one or the other’s hotel room bed or couch or floor — or a combination. They had spent most of their time at the balls dancing together, learning about each other. And Pellaeon hadn’t been able to stop himself from falling for him.

And then they had returned to the ship, and Thrawn had reminded him that while he was the grand admiral, he had to follow regulations. 

But there was something there. There was friendship, and there was hope, and dammit, he was going to survive for that.

There was only one problem with his plan: he had slipped while running, and _he couldn’t kriffing get up_ because he’d damaged an arm and a leg.

Pellaeon was angry, but anger didn’t solve any damn thing. Patience did. 

He could hear the TIE fighters circling again, somehow, over the sound of his heart pounding away in his throat. That was good and bad. Good, because hearing them meant he could try to give up his location. Bad, because if one of the remaining two kidnappers was closing in on him, and he fired, he would have no idea they were there, and they would know where he was.

This was a risk he had to take anyway. He was bleeding again, despite the treatment he’d been given for the injuries caused to him during the interrogation process. In a forest on an alien planet there were any number of things that might get into the wound and kill him. If he stayed out here alone, he would die. 

The TIEs were coming around, and he had a clear view of the sky. Gritting his teeth, and hoping the galaxy was on his side for a change, Pellaeon fired five rapid shots into the sky right above his position.

*

The communications officer had pulled Tschel and Biggles to the aft bridge to deliver the bad news from Rukh. “He lost about a liter of blood,” the ensign was saying, when TIE Command waved them over.

“Hold that thought, Ensign,” Biggles ordered, and the three of them stepped over to TIE Command. She looked positively giddy. 

“Sir, Lieutenant Colonel Nerrehna has found him. He says he can’t land, but is hovering to keep him safe from hostiles and requests orders.”

“Relay that to Grand Admiral Thrawn immediately, Ensign,” Biggles demanded, before turning back to the TIE station. “Does he have any other information?” 

She relayed the question, listened, nodded. “He’s a bloody mess — actively bleeding — and seems to have injured an arm and leg.” 

Tschel had moved to contact sickbay before Biggles could relay the order.

“Med-Evac ETA is forty-five minutes, sir,” he reported a few minutes later, and gestured to the communications officer to relay the information.

Biggles nodded. “Admiral Thrawn is making haste to his position. Most of A-1 has been sent to seek out the ship and any others nearby. We’re not to let them get off planet. They’re to be captured alive for interrogation.”

For a man who had spent most of the last week alternating between sleeping, working, and proudly showing everyone holos of his daughter (even Thrawn had swooned over her a little — even Rukh had asked to look multiple times, very curious about Human infants), the dark look on his face was almost terrifying. It would have been, was Tschel not sure it was echoed on his own. He could certainly see it on the face of everyone on the bridge. 

“Good,” he said, and meant it.

*

They were closing in. Rukh could smell the captain, the distinctly pungent, awful smell of a Lasat, and two other Humans. The tracks on the ground were clear and easy to read, and then they weren’t. He raised his arm in a closed fist, immediately calling a halt as he looked at the ground in front of him. “Drag marks,” he commented, crouching low to examine the ground. A Human had been dragged off, but it hadn’t been the captain. The trail was easy to follow, and led to the poorly hidden body of young male. The kill shot had gone right between the eyes. This male was one of the kidnappers: he was sure of it.

Rukh returned to the start of the struggle, following the tracks with his eyes and nose as he sorted out the scene. “He surprised them, here,” he said after a moment. “They were carrying him — and he broke free. The captain grabbed a blaster—” It was likely his holdout blaster, but no one needed to know how well-armed the military leadership was, “—and he was able to shoot one of his kidnappers.” 

Thrawn pointed to four of the troopers, and gestured to the body. “Stay here with him and see if you can determine his identity. They may try to return for him. Rukh, where does the trail go?”

The scent wasn’t difficult to detect: not with blood mixed in with it. “This way,” he gestured. They couldn’t be too far behind them now. Having the TIEs flying overhead would slow the kidnappers down: it would keep them hunting for cover, staying low, and would compromise their speed.

It hadn’t been more than a few months ago — three weeks or so before the refitting at Kuat — that Thrawn had given Pellaeon a situation slightly similar to this to solve. Only that had been an actual battle plan, for a neutral planet that had issues with terrorism and requested their help to solve it. Pellaeon had handled it brilliantly (with very similar tactics), Thrawn had said, though it had taken some extra coaching. That had lasted into the evening a time or two, and Rukh had sworn they were finally going to stop dancing around the attraction between them. Especially since Pellaeon’s victory had won them the allegiance of the planet. 

Even the relaxation and freedom afforded them on Kuat hadn’t done it though they had spent all ten days engaged in the humanoid practice of flirting with each other and the idea. Thrawn had ended the courtship immediately upon their return to the ship and everyone on the bridge crew had wanted to kill him for it. Rukh had even contemplated it, albeit briefly. The Empire’s leadership had been so close to happiness. Why had he yanked it away?

Pellaeon had accepted the decision with an understanding smile and a broken look in his eyes that resurfaced whenever Thrawn’s back was turned. Thrawn had been grouchy for weeks and his eyes often lingered longingly on the captain when Pellaeon wasn’t looking. His _maitrakh_ would have called it a sickness of the heart, then called His Lord a series of choice names, and told him what to do with his regulations. Rukh had stared at him in shock, muttered a several disrespectful things under his breath when he’d recovered, and stalked back to the antechamber. The entire next two weeks had been spent glaring at Thrawn whenever they found themselves alone. 

When they found the captain, would Thrawn continue to deny them both despite all the worry and concern? Or would he remain stubborn and hopeless?

Rukh made certain to point out the blood marking the trail. Something had to get through to him.

Approximately fifteen minutes into following Pellaeon’s trail Thrawn’s comlink went off. He tapped Rukh’s shoulder with two fingers, closed, and the Noghri signaled an immediate halt. After gesturing for everyone to lower themselves to the ground, he let Thrawn answer. Rukh huddled close to listen, eyes on the forest around them. 

“Grand Admiral, we have his location.”

*

Pellaeon had been struggling to remain conscious and keep and eye on everything behind the fighter, but had managed well enough for the most part. Adrenaline was keeping him awake. Adrenaline was keeping his heart racing, and the wound in his side dribbling out blood. Maybe. It had been, but he wasn’t sure if he was still bleeding. Thrawn, at least, could properly apply pressure. He couldn’t, not with one arm potentially broken and the other needed to fire the blaster. Relief filled him at the sight of Thrawn’s face, and he had a feeling it was much the same way for him. Thrawn looked like a man who had just come home.

Until he took in the extent of his physical appearance. Worry and rage fought for prominence on his face as he crouched by his subordinate’s side. “It looks works than it is,” Pellaeon said with more confidence than he possessed. Reassuring Thrawn was more important than anything else for the time being. The man actually looked frightened, and it was a look poorly suited to the face of such a strong leader.

“Where are you bleeding?” Thrawn asked, his tone making it clear that he didn’t quite believe him. Around them, the stormtroopers that had accompanied him took up sentry positions. Pellaeon couldn’t help but tense.

He wet his lips, and eyed the troopers warily. “Admiral—”

“They’re not rebels. All of them are our people,” Thrawn cupped his cheek and turned Pellaeon’s head to face him. It felt exactly the same as it had when they had gone for a stroll through the Royal Gardens on Kuat and nearly kissed in the moonlight there. Thrawn had ended up kissing his gloved hand instead of his lips, though it had been a near thing and _oh,_ how Pellaeon had wanted a proper kiss. It would have felt right. _It would have been right._

Thrawn was determined to set a proper example for those they commanded. He had to respect his commanding officer. 

“I’ve got you now,” he murmured, briefly pressing their foreheads together. Pellaeon forgot how to breathe for a moment, and then Thrawn pulled away again. “Where are you bleeding?”

“My side,” he said, too stunned to do anything but what was asked, gesturing with the blaster to the wound. 

Carefully, Thrawn peeled back his shirt. “It’s not bleeding at the moment. I don’t want you to move at all until the medics arrive in case you tear it open again.”

“But what if they find us?”

Thrawn’s hand was back against his face, warm and reassuring. “I will protect you, Gilad,” he promised quietly. “You are safe now.”

The sound of another ship approaching could be heard. When Rukh straightened up only a meter away, and Nerrehna turned his fighter to face the incoming vessel, they both tensed. Thrawn relaxed when the TIE Interceptor took off to make room for the incoming ship to get low enough to drop off medics. Gently, they forced the grand admiral back, out of the way, so they could attend to the injured captain and get him on a stretcher. 

As they were getting him onto the shuttle, he looked back at Thrawn, and raised an eyebrow. The silent question was, “Are you coming?”

Rukh was at Thrawn’s side, staring at him. To Pellaeon, it looked as though the bodyguard was trying to will him to do something. Thrawn relented, and conceded with both hands raised in surrender. 

He boarded with the captain and two stormtroopers. Rukh remained behind.

*

Finding the criminals in the woods would have been a more difficult task had they not had a Lasat with them. The particular odor was pungent, unique, and nothing else on this planet smelled like them. Nothing on any planet Rukh had ever been to smelled like them. Pellaeon could hear snippets of him delivering his report to Thrawn, and found himself wondering when Rukh had ever found time to become acquainted with that particular scent. It was highly unlikely the Noghri would ever tell the story: most of his missions prior to accepting the assignment as Thrawn’s bodyguard had been classified at the highest level. He didn’t like to discuss them, nor did Pellaeon like to pry.

The medics had kicked Thrawn out while they patched him back together. He’d spent a few hours asleep in a bacta tank after the more severe injuries had been examined, cleaned, and his broken bones set. A bone knitter had patched the bones together afterward (temporary casts would hold them in place until they were stable), and he’d needed surgical glue and bacta patches for some of the worst of his injuries, but he was expected to make a full, physical recovery.

He was waiting for the psychiatric evaluation that would make the final determination on whether or not he would be fit to fully return to duty, but that wouldn’t be for at least 24 hours.

A medic was staying with him while they waited for Thrawn to finish receiving the report from Rukh. He was still working on getting the captain comfortable with painkillers, water, and anything else he thought he wanted until it was his turn to go report to the grand admiral. 

All he really wanted was to go back to sleep, if he was honest. Despite the worry on Thrawn’s face, the physical contact, and how close he had tried to stick to his second-in-command despite the medics kicking him out, there wouldn’t be anything beyond this aching desire for more and those fond memories of their almost-courtship on Kuat. He knew he wasn’t the only one on the ship who hoped for it to turn into more. The junior officers they had taken with them had been rooting for them, hoping to see them find happiness (and the ringing endorsement from the younger generation had been nice, he had to admit). 

Even Rukh had seemed annoyed with Thrawn for weeks when he’d put an end to the almost-affair. That had been a surprise.

The medic left to go report to Thrawn, and Pellaeon closed his eyes, mind taking him right back to the balls he was still trying so hard to forget. No matter how often they were separated by other people, they always found each other again for the next dance. Their conversations continued right where they left off. Thrawn had kept him drawn in close, and the heat of his body was like a waterfall of warm air through both of their dress uniforms. Pellaeon could feel the warm of Thrawn’s hand in his through two layers of leather gloves and longed to take them off to dance. Not in a long time had he craved skin contact that desperately, and his eyes had kept drifting to the pale blue skin of Thrawn’s wrist and the visible veins there.

Pellaeon still wanted to know if it was as sensitive to teeth as a human wrist.

Pellaeon doubted he would get that chance. 

He desperately missed the safety in the feeling of being guided with a hand on the small of his back. He missed Thrawn’s soft, private smiles, his laughter, jokes that were only for him. He missed the way they fit together: not only physically — though that had been wonderful — but in everything they had done with all that freedom afforded them.

A noise next to his bed made him open his eyes. It was Rukh, exhausted but finally clean, collapsing into one of the chairs at his bedside. “Sleep, if you need to,” the Noghri said. “I will protect you.”

Rukh didn’t look like he’d be awake much longer himself. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep,” Pellaeon pointed out.

“Perhaps,” he replied. Rukh was definitely trying not to yawn. “But I am a light sleeper, and the grand admiral will stay as well to make sure you are all right.”

Pellaeon sighed softly, a little relieved by the news. Both of them were more than capable of defending him. Had he been able to get word to them about their escort, they would have been able to put an end to the ordeal with relative ease and speed. Guilt overtook him, and quickly. He had not been able to do so, and so time and money — the two resources the Empire was still in need of — had been spent looking for him. 

A hand on his other shoulder snapped him out of it. “It is not your fault, Gilad. I’m told guilt is a normal reaction in a situation like this. The only people at fault here are the rebels who committed the crimes.” Thrawn sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. That was the skin contact he wanted. 

“I know that,” he responded. Pellaeon’s grip on Thrawn’s hand was tight. He didn’t want the man to let go. “Logically, I know. It isn’t my fault at all. But there’s something about being dragged off into the woods and tortured that makes it harder to believe.”

“I will find out what they wanted and then have them executed,” Thrawn’s face was dark at the reminder of what they did to him. He would clearly burn the planet to the ground if he had to. “You are not to be touched. You are _not to be harmed_.”

It was, clearly, an act of war. “Are we going to stop seeking their admittance?”

“Only if we can verify that they are, in face, a New Republic Intelligence squadron, and that they acted with the consent of government officials from this planet.”

Pellaeon cocked his head to the side slightly. It would make sense if they were still a thing, but this protectiveness will seem to have come from nowhere. “Because they kidnapped your second-in-command, or because they kidnapped me?”

Stunned, Thrawn stared at him in silence for a moment before he rallied himself enough to respond. “You,” managed quietly. “It’s because they kidnapped you.

“I couldn’t focus well throughout the search: I _had_ to let Rukh take over. As soon as I realized you had been taken, it was as though I lost the ability to think like a calm, rational adult. I couldn’t locate you.You could have been dead.”

Stunned by the admission of emotional failure and touched by the worry, Pellaeon very carefully lifted his other hand to pat the back of Thrawn’s. “I’m fine now,” or he would be, at least. It would be a couple of days before they would clear him to return fully to duty. 

“That’s not the point,” Thrawn responded with a quick, stubborn shake of his head. 

Pellaeon raised an eyebrow at him. “If this is going to be some speech about how I could have died, or ‘what if it happens again,’ you know damn well I’ll be the first to remind you that it could very well happen again and I would be proud to die for the Empire. Especially under your command.”

The rebuke made him flinch — Pellaeon only saw it because he was watching for that small movement — and Thrawn’s hand tightened on his. “No, I know that, Gilad. That’s not entirely where I was going.”

_Not entirely?_ This was going somewhere interesting then. Pellaeon nodded for him to continue. Thrawn hesitated — _hesitated!_ — and glanced to Rukh, who bared his teeth at Thrawn and growled slightly. It was a menacing look. 

“I will follow through on my threat, my Lord,” he promised in a tone just shy of maliciousness. 

“Wait outside,” Thrawn requested, and it was — for the first time Pellaeon had known the two — truly a request. Rukh acquiesced after a few more seconds of glaring. The moment the door slid shut behind him Thrawn shifted to take both of his hands.

“Do you remember Kuat?” he asked quietly after a moment of careful thought, thumbs stroking over the backs of his hands. “Particularly, the night I waited until Rukh was asleep to sneak into the rooms assigned to you?”

That had been after a two rough days at _and_ and away from the negotiating table due to setbacks with the refitting on the _Chimaera_ and very little time for sleep. They had fought after evening meal, and Pellaeon had wondered if it might come to blows if it wasn’t for Rukh getting between them and banishing Thrawn from Pellaeon’s suite. Few of their arguments got that bad these days. It had been one of the worst since they had first met. 

And then Thrawn had snuck in purely to apologize, just before midnight local time, and they had sat on his bed talking about it. They had talked until they’d fallen asleep on each other and decided to share the bed. Pellaeon still treasured the memory of waking up in Thrawn’s arms to his alarm going off and Rukh asleep on the suite’s couch as though he’d given up on them both.

Thrawn’s bedhead was entertaining, and the man was not a morning person. Pellaeon found the information endearing and teased him for the rest of the day.

He didn’t share the memory; instead, he swallowed hard, and made himself meet Thrawn’s eyes. “Yes.” His tone was guarded. Mentioning Kuat near Thrawn was a quick way to be dismissed from his presence this last month. It was rare that he brought it up, and it was never to Pellaeon.

“You fell asleep in my arms that night,” Thrawn murmured. His eyes dropped down to their joined hands. “It was so difficult, the next night, to make myself sleep in my own bed. To not beg you join me there. I wanted you much that it was almost overpowering, Gilad.” Thrawn’s voice became a whisper. “I was afraid of losing control over my emotions.”

Pellaeon was quiet for a moment, thinking over Thrawn’s behavior in the day or two after that. Thrawn had not come back to bed as he had hoped, but— “Is that why you held me so close at the balls?” he asked bluntly. 

Thrawn responded by looking surprised, and then thoughtful.

It seemed like clarification was needed. “There were several periods where you kept your arm locked around my waist after the dance ended. I’m not complaining,” Pellaeon added hastily. “You know exactly how I feel about you. But I’m curious. And I wonder if you’ve moved beyond this control issue yet.” He looked at Thrawn expectantly. One way or another, he would have his answers.

“Perhaps it was why,” Thrawn answered in a thoughtful tone. “I wasn’t aware I had done that: I certainly wasn’t doing so intentionally.” His eyes lifted and found Pellaeon’s again. “I believe the issue has been resolved. Something could happen to either of us at any moment: I do not wish to waste time we could spend as a couple waiting until some perfect opportunity to begin a relationship presents itself.

“If you will still have me, Gilad, I would very much like to—”

He’d said enough, really. Done enough talking for both of them for years, in Pellaeon’s opinion. There were far better things Thrawn could use his mouth for. With his good hand, he reached up, got a grip Thrawn’s tunic collar, and tugged him down for a good, hard kiss. 

He remembered Kuat. But why waste time remembering Kuat when they could start making new memories right now?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, at least I didn’t poison Baellaeon. This time. I’m going to add some more notes here in a bit but I have to get back on the phones. Will fix coding errors between calls!


End file.
